


The Turtle's Dilemma

by SYNdicate930



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Baggage, Friends With Benefits, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Abuse, Romance, Self-Esteem Issues, The Hedgehog's Dilemma, Trust Issues, Unrequited Love, fear of intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 05:20:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19311451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SYNdicate930/pseuds/SYNdicate930
Summary: It is truly a pity that some of the most beautiful people, too, are the most ashamed.“Don’t be so serious. I was just poking fun at you.” I state. “Couples kiss, and it’s cute.”“Couples kissing is cute, I guess.” Hyungwon shrugs.“Right?”“But we aren’t a couple.”That’s the consequence of flying too close to the sun.“Right.”I’m just begging to be burned alive.In which Hyungwon is in a constant state of the hedgehog's dilemma and weighed down by tremendous emotional baggage, and Wonho wants to take the weight off Hyungwon's shoulders. All Hoseok wants is to help Hyungwon, even when he can't help himself.





	The Turtle's Dilemma

**Author's Note:**

> A handy dandy playlist to get in the mood: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLVF9M3qHUx_UZnqurOPob0OHf15rBNCim 
> 
> I originally posted this as a NCT JohnTen fic, but I felt so unmotivated to finish it so I turned it into a HyungWonho fic instead lol. Sorry fam.

_ Hoseok _

**June 22, Friday - 20:00**

I can see him from my kitchen window, leaning against the passenger door of his run-down minivan as I water my plants on the window sill. My aloe vera has been doing marvelous as of late, as well as my assortment of petite succulents, which I have put great care into arranging in a variety of colored pots and in order of easiest to most difficult to care for. They help set my mood early in the morning, as I pour my coffee before I leave for work, and in the evening, while I’m preparing dinner with Hyunwoo. However, I’ve been somewhat distressed as my daisies haven’t been doing so well. Though uncertain of the best method to care for them, a great effort has been made. I water them as needed and position them on the windowsill so as to receive optimal sunlight, though I don’t think a stuffy apartment with subpar ventilation is the ideal environment for daisies. But that’s neither here nor there.

Beyond the quaint view of my beloved house plants, bright-faced, full of life and vigor, with soft rosy hair disheveled from the wind, Hyungwon waits patiently outside on the street below. His head is tilted down as he skims through his phone with one hand, the other preoccupied with an abbreviated cigarette between his fore and middle fingers.

Behind him, the setting sun varnishes his shadow against the fissured pavement, suffusing him in a bright, warm orange hue. Akin to the sun, I’ve discovered, through masochistic trial and error, prolonged exposure to Hyungwon’s mild neuroses and gravity, the more severe the burn; but I cannot find it within myself to muster up the willpower or resilience to run and take shelter from his light. Typically, we orbit at a circumspect distance, however, intermittently, I find myself drawn nearer than he would like, and the resulting flare is sufficient enough to singe and blacken.

As I throw on a denim jacket, he lights another cigarette, the first long forgotten on the sidewalk by his feet; as I pull on my sneakers, he pockets his lighter. In the time it takes me to pat myself down, checking thrice for my keys and wallet, Hyunwoo slides past me. With bedridden hair, clad in baby blue Pororo pyjamas (gifted by Jooheon), he folds his arms across his chest loosely, with sleep still in his half-lidded eyes. We share a quick glance. 

He doesn’t call me out on my bullshit. He never does. A candid approach to the quandaries and blunders of those around him is simply not Hyunwoo’s principal or preferred method of intervention. Rather, he proposes brief conversation, delving superficially into an original program on Netflix he’s immersed himself in while I examine my hair through our closet mirror. His voice is hoarse and groggy from slumber.

“So that’s what you’ve been watching?”

“Yeah, it’s a really good show, though. All the bad acting and backwards character development aside, I’d give it a solid B - would’ve given it an A... it’s just that the ending seemed a little rushed. There were a lot of loose ends, come to think of it.” Hyunwoo states confidently, though somewhat in a daze, the bags under his eyes indicate little to no rest. But what’s new? “All in all, I’d re-watch it, though. Maybe to catch all the easter eggs Jooheon talks about.”

“Yeah, right. You only say that because you think the lead actress is hot.” I counter, slipping my hands into the back pocket of my jeans, now the front pockets, and then those of my jacket. Hyunwoo shoots me a startled expression, but he doesn’t outright deny this or argue with me. “To be fair, I almost started watching it too, just to stare at her.”

“Are you alright? You look like you’re forgetting something.” He says as he hands me my cell phone. I heave a sigh of relief. Sometimes, I’m certain I’d lose my head if it weren’t welded to my body - Hyungwon agrees, regurgitating something homologous in meaning, but cynical in spirit. “You left it on the kitchen counter.”

“Thanks, dude.”

“So, where you headed to?”

“You know, just going out. The weather’s nice this evening so I thought I’d -”

“Seeing Hyungwon?”

“Maybe.” 

“I knew it.”

“What gave it away?” 

“You’re too easy to read.”

“God damn it.” The two of us laugh, but Hyunwoo’s eyes glance off of me disapprovingly. Hyunwoo is uncomfortable with topics that require him to communicate frankly and, at times, bluntly, in fear of hurting the feelings of others, so, in instances such as this, he refrains from initiating such conversations. And, for that, I am thankful; there is too much I’d rather leave ignored and untouched. “Anyway, you should get some sleep, you look a mess.”

“Thanks, that’s exactly what I needed to hear.”

“You’re welcome. Anyway, I’ll see you later.”   

“Later.” Despite his roundabout manner of speaking, Hyunwoo is incredibly tactful and gentle. “You take care of yourself, alright?”

“When don’t I?”

Hurrying out the door, sprinting down three flights of stairs, an eager disposition ignites the inordinate enthusiasm in my lungs, further amplified at the sight of Hyungwon, whose stare brightens visibly as he focuses his gaze upon me. He discards his minimized cigarette onto the sidewalk, extinguishing the charred bud beneath the worn out sole of his sneaker. Something about this is provocative, yet authoritative. He has me whipped far beyond his knowing, commanding my attention with effort equivalent to the exhale of remaining nicotine emitting from his lips. He ogles me openly, and I take the scrutiny with great pride. 

Hyungwon pulls himself away from the vehicle to throw his arms around my neck, to which I return the advance, sliding my arms around his waist. His frame is thin and fragile, as if I could snap him by his middle like a twig. But he’s resilient in composition, even more so by nature, if his bedroom persona is anything to go by. He smells of cigarette smoke.

I tilt my head to offer a small kiss. Hyungwon evades this to blow into my ear playfully, nipping the lobe of my left ear softly as he pries his body from mine. My body laments the loss of contact. A cautious reach of his hand is squarely rebuffed, and he begins to giggle as if it were a joke. 

“What’s with you today?” His laughter is borderline sardonic, but I bear no grudges, for it does not require an intellectual to discern the pronounced diffidence buried superficially beneath synthetic hubris. “You’re more affectionate than usual. Someone must be excited.”

“Of course I am.” Fully aware of my tendency to overstep emotional boundaries, primarily manifested in the form of intimate gestures repudiated, often benevolently, though, at times, stridently, I slip my hands into my jacket pockets. My fingers busy themselves with my phone and keys. The last thing I want is to risk scaring him off. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“No, not at all. I’m just… surprised.”

“You’re cute when you’re surprised.”

“Fuck off.”

“It’s true, though.”

“Shut up.” 

“Make me.” I lean tilt my head upward, our faces mere inches away as I advance on him. Hyungwon flattens himself against the passenger door of his car, cornered. A skittishness overtakes his laughter. As per usual, he vehemently avoids meeting my stare. His eyes glance off my nose, my shirt, the freshly cut lawn behind us, and the diminished space between his chest and mine.

As if snapping out of his anxious haze, Hyungwon’s eyes snap up and he pushes me away feebly. The fire in his eyes diminishing into a stubborn ember weakened by harsh winds. “You loser. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to kiss me just now.”

I feign recoil, stumbling back over dramatically. “And if I was?”

“We’d have to break things off. I don’t kiss.” Hyungwon wastes no time as he jogs around the front of the car as I compose myself. He opens the driver side door and slides in, motioning me to follow on my side. Blinking in place, dumbfounded by the speed of his rejection, I swing open the door, duck my head and pull on my seat belt. 

“Don’t be so serious. I was just poking fun at you.” I state. “Couples kiss, and it’s cute.”

“Couples kissing  _ is  _ cute, I guess.” Hyungwon shrugs.

“Right?”

“But we aren’t a couple.”

That’s the consequence of flying too close to the sun.

“Right.”

I’m just begging to be burned alive. 

**June 22, Friday - 20:28**

The lights are turned off, but enough of the setting sun pours in from his living room window that I can sufficiently discern our surroundings. Possessing solely uttermost necessities and items essential to his livelihood, his flat is straightforward and without excess or frills. When I had first paid a visit to his flat, I was taken aback by the near-vacant appearance. The walls are unadorned, save a rounded cherry-wood clock the size of a dinner plate (a housewarming gift from a faculty senior), and an aged portrait of he and his family. Hyungwon has his father’s nose, and, even so, bears an overtly ubiquitous resemblance to his mother, a petite woman of delicate composure, with thoughtful eyes and a gracious smile replicated perfectly in Hyungwon. For as long as we’ve known each other, Hyungwon speaks seldom of his family. 

His suede couch is pushed against the wall opposite of a modest flat screen television, and the remnants of this evening’s dinner are strewn about his kitchen counter. A pot and pan rest in the sink, a fork, a pair of chopsticks, soup bowl and plate are haphazardly left atop the marble counter near an empty beer bottle by his microwave. Though a masterfully creative chef despite his dearth of professional training and time put aside to practice, and below average supply of ingredients at his disposal (he hates grocery shopping), a lot is left to be desired in the way of home maintenance and tidying, but that has never bothered me. The scent of cooked chicken lingers in the air. 

The drapes are pulled wide open, providing an enticing view of his eighteenth floor balcony, decorated with various cacti I’ve provided him over the course of several months. On the run between work, school, dance, and his ever expanding social life and sexual endeavors, Hyungwon’s time devoted to being at home alone, and rest his weary bones, let alone maintain fauna, is abysmal - laughable. Yet, he insists on keeping some. He thinks they make him feel more at home. After a series of dead, dried up flowers and other household plants, I came to the decision cacti, low maintenance yet charming, are the only thing Hyungwon is capable of caring for.

Dragging me out of my reverie, Hyungwon peels away my jacket the second his apartment door slams behind us. I make it a point to lock the front door before we proceed further. As my jacket descends to my feet, he cups and flattens his palm against my crotch, the salacious haze in his eyes enabling in its every interpretation. I combat the urge to laugh in Hyungwon’s face for his transparency, and obligation to fuck him against the nearest wall with a bite of my lip. As I am about to applaud his capacity to suppress his routine impulse of thrusting his hands down the front of my jeans in the elevator, he discards his cardigan and t-shirt and, all at once, the words become tenebrous and misplaced as quickly as the garments drop to the floor.

His physique is an amalgamation of strapping angles and virile contours, wide-shouldered and long-limbed, yet outlined diaphanously by womanly strokes, encapsulated by a sporadically venereal air which fills my lungs, granting the high of a lifetime as I breathe him in. Hyungwon is willowy and all lean muscle compressed densely below a film of enthralling placid skin, sun-kissed faintly by his affection for summer wind and warmth, sparsely corrugated by the vague traces of veins in his forearms, timorously protruding from his wrists, and spiraling down to the backs of his needful hands. They grasp the end of my shirt desperately, fisting themselves into the pristine white fabric, and yank upward. I comply, raising my arms to allow Hyungwon to haul the garment over my head. His eyes wander over my torso and arms as he tosses the fabric onto the oval coffee table beside us. Restless and aching, I rotate my head from shoulder to shoulder, watching as his eyes lower, swiftly becoming fixated on my erection through my jeans.

“You look good today.” I state, dumbly.

He reaches for my belt, wasting no time as he carelessly casts it onto the floor with a remiss toss. The metal buckle smashes against the wooden floor with a succinct echo, lingering in my ears for no longer than a mere second before perishing. “Only today?”

“Not just today. I mean, you always do. You look really good with pink hair. I was kind of surprised when I first saw you after you dyed it because it was so different, but it suits you. It’s really cute, actually.” I am a man of many words, superfluous and ungainly. He interrupts me before I can further compliment him, humored by the clodishness with which I carry myself. “Every time I see you, you look really good. I -”

“You’re hard already?” It is more of a statement than a question. Irrefutably pleased, he unfastens the button of my jeans with his forefinger and thumb, making expeditious work to pull down on the zipper.

“Is there a problem with that?” After Hyungwon tugs my boxers and jeans to my knees, I finish the job, skating them down to my ankles and stepping out of them completely. As he speaks, reaching to grasp me with one hand, his shackled stare does not waver from my erection. “Didn’t anyone teach you it’s rude to stare?”

“Shut up.” The intonation is schematic, impish. Using his right hand, Hyungwon caresses my cock with languid, lackadaisical strokes, yet his expression is alert nevertheless, as if testing foreign waters. In defiance of the speculative manner in which he observes my body’s response to his touch, he is fully cognizant of the immeasurable power he has over me. I swallow, effectively alleviating the tautly chained knot that has occupied my throat, and release a reticent, strangled moan. “Don’t hold back. I love it when you moan.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s hot as fuck.”

“It’s true.”  His grasp strengthens as his hand glides upward, his teeth coming down on his lip as his thumb skates over the head of my cock, becoming wet and glossy with precum. “Fuck. I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“Shut up.” Every so often, Hyungwon is thoroughly appalled by affection. I don’t recall ever meeting or knowing of someone so repulsed by it. Whether a witness or the subject of direct affection, the sentiment causes Hyungwon’s stomach to turn and his eyes to roll with antipathy. 

“You’re smiling, though.”

In the salubriously aberrant occurrence wherein his mouth isn’t scowling or pursed in a thinly nettled stroke, his lips spasm wondrously, slightly at the edges, as if to defy the marvelously overwhelming urge to smile; although he will never acknowledge this. Homogenous in conduct when delusional enough to refuse confessing how good I fuck him, and how he’ll never find anyone who’ll have him screaming, unconditionally begging, until his throat runs dry and his doorstep is littered with noise complaints from the other tenants on his floor, like _me_.

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying.”

“You fucking loser.”

“What?”

“You’re being weird.”

I cannot resist teasing him as tilt my head to face him eye-to-eye, leaning close with a timid step forward. He withdraws his hand from my erection and averts his gaze, unsteadily fixing themselves on the couch behind me. 

“No, I’m not.” I state. 

“Yeah, you are.” He rebukes.

Our noses touch, and the proximity is virtually adequate enough to cause Hyungwon to momentarily surrender his footing. Without warning, a dolorous ache to kiss him preoccupies my senses, expeditiously sedating my dubious judgement alongside particularly circumspect faculties, conditioned to adhere to Hyungwon’s physical limitations set forth by sensitive emotional boundaries, yielding hazardously to a ravenous, famine-induced hunger. “Am not.”

But I regain control over myself with a deep breath. 

Profoundly exemplary to an impalpable degree, I’m only made fully conscious I have yet to tear my eyes off of him the instant he takes a small step back. “Quit staring at me.”

“I’m not staring.” I breathe a grateful sigh, for one second longer, I would have inevitably succumbed to my delirious impulses and cravings, eliminating the gap between our mouths, conclusively, without a second’s hesitation, and for that there would undoubtedly be hell to pay. “Even if I was, what’s wrong with that? You’re cute.” 

“Ever since I picked you up, you’ve been acting all weird and shit.” His attempt at laughter is artificial and blundering, but it causes my heart to flutter turbulently regardless. “What’s with you today?

“Nothing.” I shrug. “I just think you look really good.”

“Thank you.” He pauses. I wait. “ Again.”

“You’re welcome -”

“But could you please stop staring at me?” Without Hyungwon’s realizing, his reactions and inflection, have, and ceaselessly has, alluded to a stunted self-esteem, finding attention at such close proximity “awkward ” and “really fucking unbearable ” at its worst. This pronounced deficit seemingly stems from someplace unsavory, through total remiss by frigid hands, greedy and loveless. By the looks of it, no quantity of soap nor water can cleanse away the finger prints that Hyungwon recoils at the sight of; the memories of men, and even women, who’ve broken him many times over. 

“Make me.” 

“Not this again.” Despite eccentric, periodically exorbitant, displays of nerve, Hyungwon is rather frail and easily deflated. He detests when I stare at him for too long, especially up close, alarmed this may magnify his most profound insecurities. 

Ever since I first encountered Hyungwon, when his hair was still black with patches of fading flaxen hues and he was engrossed with creating choreography for Charlie Puth’s single “How Long”, he has perpetually been acutely self-conscious. Blame these rose-colored lenses, but I, for the life of me, cannot locate anything less than wonderful on his person.

“Make me.”

“ _Hoseok_.” 

It is truly a pity that some of the most beautiful people, too, are the most ashamed.

“Make. Me.”

“Don’t test me.”

“And if I am?” Catching me off guard, with a mischievous simper, regaining his equilibrium as abruptly as it was misplaced, Hyungwon shoves me by my chest atop the couch behind me. On my back, I, dumbfounded and tenderly entranced, watch as he strips down entirely, kicking his bottoms off somewhere behind him, captivated by his zealousness. It is consequential to note that, regardless of what happens, to me, he was and always has been splendid to the senses. “For as skinny and brittle as you are, you’re surprisingly strong.”

He laughs. “Hoseok, I swear to god.”

“What? It’s a compliment.”

“You’re lucky you’re hung and hot as fuck.”

He kneels on the floor, settling his sweaty palms atop my knees as he lowers himself, utilizing their placement to spread my limbs. On the floor, he rests between my thighs smirking, self-satisfied and assured, his brilliantly white teeth appearing as he grins up at me.

I inhale sharply as his lips latch onto the inside of my thigh, pecking and nipping wickedly from my knee, towards my erection, closer and closer, his tongue offering a cyclical lick betwixt wet kisses, throwing me further off balance. On the opposite leg, his hand gropes the insides of my thigh, nails digging softly into my flesh. Hyungwon giggles, but the lighthearted, chime-like quality in his voice is incongruent with the nefarious gleam of his dark eyes as they turn their attention to my cock, narrowing like a missile honing in on its target.

He gives the head an adept squeeze before creating a steady rhythm with his hand, gliding the palm of his hand up and down, making my toes curl and jaw clench at the sensation. In his hand, my erection appears intimidating and large in his grasp, situated beside his frangible wrist. For a second, he straightens somewhat, hovering his mouth over my cock, meeting my gaze as he speaks between licking the tip and kissing the underside the shaft. “Jesus christ. You’re really, really hard today. How long has it been since you’ve last...?”

“Uh… however long it’s been since the last time we saw each other, I guess.”

“Really? That was almost a week ago.”

I nod. “Sounds about right.”

“You haven’t masturbated or anything since?”

I shake my head. “Nope. There’s no need to masturbate when I have you.”

“Miss me on that sappy shit.”

“Admit it. You love my sappy shit.” He slaps his forehead using his free hand, embarrassed at my shamelessness. “If you liked that, there’s more where that came from.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

My hands come to rest atop his head, excited at what is to come. With a lick of his lips, he parts them to take me in, first sucking shallowly before bobbing his head at a moderate pace, and then forcing himself to accept as much of my cock as he can, his hand wrapped firmly around the shaft as slides up and down in time with his mouth. The feeling causes my body to shudder and jerk forward with a moan, leaning my slouched body over Hyungwon’s kneeling form. 

“Holy fuck, Hyungwon.”

Releasing me with a cheeky ‘pop’, he tilts his face up to look at me as his hand continues to pump my erection, picking up his pace with a cheeky grin. “Well, if you liked that, there’s way more where that came from.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

 

**June 23, Saturday - 0:01**

As we lay on his couch, I channel surf boredly with an arm curled around his shoulders, absentmindedly tracing my fingers over the spinous processes of his spinal vertebrae as they protrude from his warm skin. Hyungwon snores softly against my chest, and I can still vaguely smell the artificial scent of his lube. Before succumbing to a deep slumber atop my chest, our legs entangled, I managed to drag his comforter from his bedroom to the living room. It smells just like him, saccharine, almost, akin to strawberries, yet sharp and tangy like citrus; he’s stated numerous times how greatly he wholeheartedly enjoys the fresh, amicable aroma of lemons and limes, and the sweetness of berries. I, too, have grown a fondness for such fragrances, as they bring forth aching yet galvanizing memories of him.

But his scent alone is not enough to appease the acute emptiness I feel when we part ways. 

I inhale deeply, needily, and close my eyes. 

Every time my mind conjures the image of him, whether offhandedly or when alone, in dire need of perverse relief, there is a pervasive loneliness to Hyungwon. Though subtle, it is ubiquitous in every recollection. Intermittently, I notice myself searching for it unintentionally whenever we’re together, when I’m in a daze from across the table, and, once in a while, I actively seek it out, hoping to uncover and ease whatever ails him. I open my eyes, exhaling. 

Children’s programming, news, cooking, news, retro work-out shows, and even more news; there is nothing of mild interest on television tonight, with the exception of a Saw movie marathon on the sci-fi channel, which retains my attention for at least half an hour. After what appears to be a montage of profuse violence, and multiple attempts at plot-twists, character development, and homicidal drama, a woman forced into performing surgery ultimately has her head obliterated into utter nihilty, and the resounding noise of numerous guns firing and sound effects are enough to awaken Hyungwon.

Slowly opening his eyes, he blinks into total wakefulness, grimacing at the horrendous view of blood and inhumane suffering on screen. “What the fuck are you watching?”

“Saw.” I answer without tearing my gaze from the television. “Sometimes, I forget how long it’s been since these movies came out.”

“When did this come out?”

“Like, 2006… ish?”

“Man, it really shows.”

“Yeah, you would’ve been in elementary school when this came out, you baby.”

“Shut up - you’re not much older than me.” Despite the initial disgust, his face softens as he laughs, presumably as his incredibly dark sense of humor finds the senseless gore entertaining. He pauses for a yawn and the movie pauses for a commercial break. “Of all horror movies you could be watching… Saw, really? I thought you hated movies with graphic depictions of violence.”

“I do, but there’s nothing else to watch. Also, I close my eyes when I can’t handle it, besides I…” I shift so Hyungwon can sit up comfortably. Instead, he raises a leg to straddle my hips, my cock stirring suddenly as his hands comes to rest on my abdomen, just below my belly button. The palms of his hands are clammy, his chest marred by hickies, courtesy of yours truly. “It was either that or weird old exercise programs - the ones where the guys have old school porn moustaches and work out in unitards.”

“Hot.”

“Gross.”

“You should fuck me in one of those.”

“No, thanks.”

“And grow an old school porn moustache.”

“I couldn’t grow one, even if I tried.” He notices I’m staring instantly. He giggles, playing off his discomfort as he wraps his fingers around my cock. A wince crosses his face. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m fine. Just a little sore from earlier, but I’m always sore after you’re done with me.”

“I can be gentle next time.”

“No, please, destroy me. I love it when you’re rough with me.” There it is again. The expression that rests on his tired features is faraway and unfocused, staring through me rather than at me.

Loneliness, melancholy - though vibrant and jovial by nature, an inherent feeling of anguish follows him, shrouding him in a thick mist. My voice softens, “Are you alright?”

His grip loosens, and he averts his stare. “Of course. I said I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

I shrug. “Just double checking.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” I sit up to slip my arms around his waist, forcing him to shift to sit atop my thighs. “I worry about you sometimes.”

“You’re such a weirdo.” Hyungwon states and I squeeze him in my arms with a chuckle. With a physique as delicate as his, I can feel his ribs against my body, the hardiness of his bones. “You’re too close.”

“You’re always free to tell me what’s wrong, and I’m always here to listen.” I raise my face to observe his face, the flurry of emotions which rest upon his angelic features, aware of the sudden rigidity in his shoulders. Positioning his hands on my chest, he straightens his arms, effectively shoving me onto the couch and onto my back.  

Oh, how I would love to be his.

In his multiplying desperation, Hyungwon mutters, as though repulsed, with a vacancy which transcends his typical playfulness and audacious mannerisms, “I said you’re too close.”

If only he would have me.

 


End file.
